


It Hurts Until It Doesn't

by peachykoya



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Cock Warming, Community: theoldguardkinkmeme, Crying, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Exhibitionism, Gun Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:13:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26214652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachykoya/pseuds/peachykoya
Summary: It occurs to Joe that the last thing his Nicolò had in his mouth was a gun.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 24
Kudos: 287





	It Hurts Until It Doesn't

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the kinkmeme prompt here:  
> https://theoldguardkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/2726.html?thread=565926#cmt565926

The dust hasn’t even settled, their wounds still stitching themselves together, and Nicky taps his fingers on Joe’s arm. Two fingers, two taps. It’s a system they’d come up with years and years ago. Joe catches Nicky’s hand and has to crane back from where he’s seated in the front, to hold his lover’s gaze as he lifts the hand to his mouth and kisses it. An acknowledgement and promise to provide.

Nicky has to squeeze his fists against his thighs the rest of the car trip, but he manages.

Andy’s behind the wheel, she has a destination in mind for where to stop for the night and rest. But wherever they’re going, it’s far. Too far for the whole team to stay awake. Booker is huddled up against the window, arms crossed, and a furrow on his brow. Like sleep isn’t coming easily. Nile is on the opposite side and her expression is serene. Nicky is sandwiched between her and Booker, Nile’s head on his shoulder, and it’s just enough tactile comfort to keep him from vibrating out of his skin. But that doesn’t stop him from bouncing his legs up and down, rubbing his hands against Joe where he can reach him. Joe's muttering softly under his breath in both Italian and Arabic, words of comfort and affirmation. "I'm still here, you're still here. We're safe. We're all safe." The car is purring quietly on the long stretch of straight road ahead.

“How much longer, Andy?”

They’ve been driving for hours, people are starting to wake up, and complain. They’re uncomfortable, they’re tired, they’re hungry. Nicky’s fingers tap against Joe’s arm. Finally, finally Andy makes a turn. A sign tells Joe that they’re in Plymouth. It’s not one of their usual stops but it’s far enough and that’s what matters. Of all of them, Booker’s the cleanest so he’s the one who counts out the bills and thanks the front desk clerk for his discretion.

They crowd inside, stretch their limbs, take up all the space that they couldn’t in the car. It’s late, dark outside, and they haven’t eaten since- was it dinner last night? There’s no kitchen, not that anyone feels particularly compelled to cook at the moment. Nicky stays close to Joe’s side, fingers tapping, unsure of what to do now. They look to Andy for direction.

She emerges from the bathroom, shoulders back. “The tub’s only big enough for maybe one or two at a time. Nile goes first, then me, and we’ll go get dinner. Booker, you-” Andy sees the looks on Joe and Nicky’s faces, and the tapping fingers, “You’ll come with us.”

There’s activity after that. People moving this way and that, moving around each other and with each other. Nicky watches them all without comment. He is untethered, unmoored, lost in the quiet of his own head. All he knows right now is this need and it’s a horrible, desperate, clawing thing making a home in his chest. But Joe. Joe cares for him so well, knows him so well, and guides Nicky over to the small table and singular chair. Nicky sits between Joe’s thighs, right where he wants to be, as his lover tends to him with an ice bucket full of warm water, a washcloth, and slow, methodical movements. Joe’s not able to get all of the blood out of Nicky’s hair, but it’s a start and it’s the intimacy that matters.

“Yusuf, I need-” Nicky’s voice is rough. He hadn’t said a word the entire trip from London to Plymouth. His nimble fingers are reaching, looking, grasping, tapping.

Joe brings his free hand forward to wipe his thumb across Nicky’s bottom lip. It’s still in the middle of healing from where he’s ripped apart the skin and chewed himself raw.

It occurs to Joe that the last thing his Nicolò had in his mouth was a gun. His heart breaks.

Andy and Booker will understand, but they haven’t talked to Nile about this. They haven’t introduced her to the way they seek each other for solace, the way they’re not ashamed to fulfill each other’s needs, to soothe the burning and the pain and ache in any way possible.

They need each other now.

Booker washes his face and hands in the bathroom sink and calls it good enough. The three of them step out quickly, and as soon as they hear the sound of the lock sliding into place, Joe and Nicky are nothing but hands and want.

Joe catches his fingers on his zipper in his haste, but it’s a temporary sting. He hardly even feels it. His whole world is focused on Nicky’s eyes, his mouth, his nose, his breathing, his hands which are everywhere all at once. They drag Joe’s pants down just far enough that his ass is naked on the cold wood of the chair and Nicky can get his mouth on him. He’s not even hard, but it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter.

What matters is the way Nicolò looks at him, so grateful, so relieved. Eyes full of love and trust and peace. ‘Thank you,’ they say, ‘Thank you for giving me this. Thank you for making it better.’ It’s enough to make Joe’s vision mist over with tears that spill onto the chestnut brown hair, which is still matted in places the washcloth didn’t reach.

Nicky takes Joe’s cock as deep as he can and just sits. He lets the weight of it sit on his tongue and pin him to the floor. His tapping fingers are still. Joe leans over as much as he can in this position and cries. It’s ugly, choked sobs making his chest heave and Nicky helps him through it by holding his hand and keeping him warm. Keeping them connected in this way.

They’re alive. Every inhale, every squeeze of their interlaced hands is a reminder. They’re alive.

Too soon, the others return. Someone knocks first and Joe sniffles before telling them to “Come in.” He doesn’t move Nicky away, he wouldn’t dare. Not when his heart is finally calmed down and floating, no longer thinking about the hot metal of a gun or the bite of a bullet. He pets Nicky’s hair and nods to Andy who takes Nile aside.

It’s been a while since she’d had to explain this to someone new, and she’d never been particularly… tactful when it came to this.

“Hey, listen, sometimes… when a mission gets really nasty, we uh… we need to - basically-”

Booker cuts her off, “Joe and Nicky have sex all the time. Sometimes in front of us, sometimes not. But after a mission like that, they’re going to be on each other a lot more so keep that in mind.”

Nile takes a quick peek over to the table and sees Nicky between Joe’s knees. It wasn’t what she’d been expecting when she’d met her new teammates, but it wasn’t a new concept either.

“Okay, yeah, I get it. Saw it all the time on duty.”

They leave it at that. Andy coaxes Joe to at least eat a little, and Nicky is...well, he can use the microwave. They sit there until the others have gone to sleep and would stay longer but Joe kisses Nicky’s forehead and tells him, “My heart, you need to eat. Please, let me feed you.”

When they finally shuffle over to the empty bed, they’re too exhausted to continue. The throbbing hollow feeling in their chests will wake them in the morning, demanding they fill the bullet shaped empty spaces with each other.

In the days and weeks following, they work their way to being okay again. Nile quickly becomes accustomed to waking up and seeing Nicky on his knees. Finding them sprawled out on the couch. Or sitting around the table eating dinner with her teammates, Joe passing his husband bites between his fingers underneath the table.

Sometimes that emptiness seems to scream. Images of Keane and the gun and Nicky’s clever, sharp eyes gone blank and dull come flooding back. Nicky relaxes his throat as Joe grips his hair and tries to pound the memories out of both their heads.

Sometimes, they’re quiet. After hours and hours of holding Joe in his mouth, Nicky allows him to probe with his fingers. Tracing his lips and teeth, feeling the tremors of his tongue. Memorizing each millimeter, covering any space, marking it all clean with his fingers, his cock, his cum.

For weeks, they do this. Nicky falls to his knees or Joe tugs him down, and _it hurts, it hurts, it hurts_ until it doesn’t. The ache dulls, the tapping fingers appear less and less. The memories join the others, the lifetimes of others, grains of sand in an hour glass. The emptiness is satisfied.  
They do what they’ve always done. They learn to live with this. They brush off their knees and they stand tall.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Every kudo and comment is a diamond that I drop in my pocket and save for a rainy day. So please be sure to leave some below~
> 
> You can find me on tumblr [here](https://peachykoya.tumblr.com/)


End file.
